untitled Bflow Okay, Victims
by with-eager-eyes
Summary: This is based off a silly lil thing I put on Tumblr one night that you guys really seemed to like. Some of you asked for me to make it into a proper fanfiction. So... let's do this.


OKAY ERRBODY. This fanfic is based on a silly little thing i put on tumblr once.

(((also: in order to fully appreciate this, you might want to have the name of your favorite love song in your mind. preferably a slow one. the reader (that's you)'s favorite love song is mentioned quite frequently...you'll understand when you read it hah. i used "fly me to the moon" by frank sinatra but you can use whatever, and yeah. it might help if you listen to it whilst reading this fic. idk. alright enjoyyy yay)))

You had been lying in your pajamas, inside your dimly lit bedroom, reading the same paragraph in your book for over an hour. You tried so, so desperately to lose yourself in it...a depressing unrequited love story that you had chosen at random at the library. However, after reading sentence after seemingly meaningless sentence, you found yourself glancing up at the clock. Eleven PM. 11:01. 11:06. 11:08. You picked at your nail polish until it was almost completely gone, and then repainted it. You had even wandered over to your bathroom and messed with your hair for a few minutes before sighing, sweeping it up into a messy bun, and then wandering back over to your empty bed. You sat cross-legged on it and refreshed your Tumblr feed for the fifth time in five minutes, not really looking at it, before tossing your phone back onto your half-made comforter. You leaned your back against the headboard, and your eyes fell on the alarm clock once again. You watched the neon red numbers turn from 12:04 to 12:05 AM and were snapped out of your daze when you heard the silent click of the front door closing. Your heart jumped, awakened; but you then closed your eyes and felt a stupid smile attack your face with zero warning.

Slow, cautious footsteps made their way down the hall. With every step was the slight _squeeeak_ of boots. Those sexy black boots, that could only belong to one man. You opened your eyes to see him step inside the room. Brandon looked a bit..well, crazy, to be perfectly honest: his dark hair, which he had finally begun to grow out, was a mess; two of the zippers on his leather jacket were opened; his aforementioned boots were untied. As soon as he saw you, he smiled; it was as though all of the chaos of that night melted off of him... along with his jacket. He slid it off of his shoulders and tossed it on the foot of your bed.

"Hey," He breathed; flashing you a brilliant smile that lightened up his tired face a few shades. He crawled onto your bed, just for the purpose of kissing your face.

"Hiiii!" You smiled at him. "How was it?" The Killers had been headlining a festival a few hours away, and this morning, Brandon had been completely preoccupied with it. You knew, deep down, he was even a little anxious. Brandon sat on the foot of his side of the bed and leaned down to slip off his boots.

"It was gooood!" He said, satisfied. "It was actually one of the most energetic crowds we've seen.." He tossed his boots back towards the door and looked thoughtful for a moment. He was always like this after a show...if you looked close enough, you could still see the neon lights reflected in his eyes and shooting out of his hands. He forced himself back to Earth. "During the first encore, Dave did a barrier run and a girl passed out." He shook his head. "It was terrible. But, you know the effect Dave has on the ladies." You giggled, and Brandon glanced up at you and unleashed one of his own, his eyes twinkling magnificently. He stood up and ran his long fingers through his hair and down his neck, and, finally, over his face, massaging it. You could see it in him... His body began to unclench, at last. His hands moved slowly down to his belt, which he undid. He shimmied out of his tight black jeans, leaning on his dresser for balance, and then folded and tossed them aside. "You know, you never truly realize how savage your fans can be until you see them nearly murdering eachother for Ron's drumsticks." He slid off his shirt and climbed into your bed. He closed his eyes and sighed, but then reopened them and, for the first time, really looked at you. He was lying on his side, propped up partially by the headboard and your mountain of soft blue pillows. You laid on your side as well and fell under his protecting shadow, bathing peacefully in it.

He sighed deeply and put his hand on your arm, his long fingers tracing words on your skin...It gave you chills, at first, but then ignited a warmth in you that would stay with you all night. It almost distracted you from how badly you wanted to know what he was writing.

He ran those soft fingertips down the length of your forearm and wrist, and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, Brandon wrapped his arm around your waist and drew himself closer to you. He leaned down and kissed your forehead.

"I missed you," he breathed into your hair, with a voice so tired it made your heart melt. He said it as if he was just observing a fact, rather than trying to be "cute," but, naturally, he achieved both. Brandon held your face in his hands as he kissed you. Yet again, your heart jumped, and then settled happily, comfortably in your chest. When he pulled away, he studied your face.

"And how was your day?" He said, lacing his fingers between yours.

"Oh, it was fine." You said, just trying to appease him, though you honestly wanted to push the boring, lonely day out of your mind. Brandon frowned..He always saw right through you.

"Except...just kidding." You said, and he smiled sadly. "I missed you too." His thumb traced circles onto yours, but then he pulled his hand away to rub his eyes, letting out a massive yawn.

"Well okay." you said, and he let out that precious, precious high-pitched laugh that flowed through the both of you like rain as he kissed you beneath your eye.

His legs intertwined with yours and he wrapped his arms around you, bringing you so close to him that you could feel those long, dark eyelashes on your forehead every time he blinked. He asked you to tell him about your day, which you did. Of course, every sentence you spoke was accented by a thoughtful yet tired "mmmm.." from Brandon. He yawned again. You pulled away from him to look him properly in the eyes.

"You're exhausted, Brandon." You said to him as he dug his knuckle deeper into his eye, looking like a child completely beat after a relentless afternoon of play. And, in a way, he was.

"I like talking to youuuu.." He breathed, his "tired voice" at full force now. His eyes were closed, though, and his arm dropped limply down onto the bed. He pried his eyes open, so slowly that it looked as though he was bench pressing 100 pounds on his eyelids. He was trying so, so hard and, though it was adorable, you couldn't help but feel guilty.

"I'm being serious!" He insisted. As he continued, his eyes gradually closed again. "On the ride home I couldn't help but check the clock every-" he stopped abruptly. Every muscle in his body completely relaxed. He was out.

You had to clap a hand to your mouth to stifle your laughter. You had rarely seen him like this before; normally you were the first to fall asleep. You quietly wriggled out of his arms and stood up, stretching. In his sleep, Brandon worried his eyebrows and stirred uncomfortably.

"Yeah, well..." you whispered as you turned out your bedside lamp. "It does get pretty lonely around here without you, handsome." Sitting by the window was a vintage radio he had bought you for your birthday. "At least I have ol' reliable to keep me company." _Countless nights spent with Brandon, sitting cross-legged in front of the fireplace, listening to that old radio...refusing to brave the snow outside as your knees knocked together every time you laughed._ Memories came flooding into your head as you ran your fingertips over the wooden surface of that radio, a serene smile on your lips. You flipped it onto Brandon's favourite station-one that always played old songs ("Sinatra!? Fitzgerald?! This is golden!").

Your favorite love song came quietly pouring out of the radio, crackling slightly. You glanced over at Brandon again, whose eyebrows were still concerned. You looked down at the ground and had to laugh at how perfect it all was. You tiptoed back over to your bed and climbed in as carefully as you could. Staring at Brandon's hand, which was resting on the pillow beside his face, you silently debated whether or not to try and regain your position in his arms, for fear of waking him. It didn't matter, though: Somehow, while he lay sleeping, as soon as Brandon sensed you were there again he instinctively wrapped his arms around you.

His eyebrows slowly relaxed as the words of "Fly Me To The Moon" by Frank Sinatra flowed into the background that was his subconscious mind, and he let out a sigh. In the stillness of the night, you could just barely tell that that sigh was actually Brandon breathing out your name. Unexpectedly, you let out a yawn of your own. You didn't even realize how tired you were up until now.

The little white lights strung around the perimeter of the ceiling were the only source of light now; it was just enough to see the details - every single freckle - on Brandon's face. In that moment, he looked completely pure. It was the strangest thing.. you had spent so long glorifying that man you saw on stage. He was a man that strutted around in black boots and demanded life from his audience; he was a collage of hair gel, of leather jackets, feathers, sweat. He was neon. But in that moment, lying in that bed next to you, with his arms wrapped around you in such a natural way... He was so close to angelic that it was overwhelming. His stomach and chest were rising and falling steadily - finally feeling relief after hours of crying out the lyrics so many people had painted on their bedroom walls and tattooed on their skin. His lips-which typically hurt after smiling for hours-were finally relaxed and just by looking at them you could tell how soft they were. And yet, he still had that special _something_ about him. He would always be glowing...Even when he was peacefully asleep.

Every time he took a breath, you could feel him blow it out onto your scalp. Naturally, your breaths fell in sync and, in a matter of seconds, it seemed..you slipped away full-force into dreamland with Frank Sinatra as your soundtrack.

_*A mere 45 minutes later, Brandon's eyes opened. As carefully as he could, he moved out of your arms, but only far enough so that he could look at you in your most innocent state, just as you had been looking at him earlier. He was pleasantly surprised to hear his favorite radio station playing on the old vintage radio he'd bought you for your birthday. He bit his lip as he slid completely out of your arms. He walked as silently as he could over to that old radio and turned it off. He glanced out the window and up at the crescent moon and suddenly the words to your favorite song resonated in his mind. "fly me to the moon..let me play among the stars.." He looked down at the ground, and smiled. "In other words, baby, kiss me." Then, just as you had done, Brandon looked back up at the person he loved so, so much lying in bed: you. In a matter of seconds, he was gone.*_

You stirred a little in your sleep before blinking yourself awake. You rubbed at your eyes and though you still felt warmth, something was off. You sat up and ran a hand through your hair, confused. Brandon was gone.

A small slip of paper was lying on his pillow: _you looked cold. -b._

Your eyebrows furrowed, until you looked down and realized Brandon's zebra striped hoodie was wrapped around you. You smiled sleepily, almost in a drunken state as you slipped your arms through it; your heart smiled when you realized it smelled just like him. Suddenly, the sound of Brandon's piano just barely made it's way into your bedroom. You tiptoed over to the door and walked down the hall as slowly as you possibly could force yourself to go. As you approached Brandon's "room," the melody to your favorite love song, the one that had been on the radio earlier, became clear to you. It wasn't coming out of Brandon's piano, though, but rather...his phone. He'd listen to a few seconds of the song, pause it, and try to recreate it on his piano. For a moment, you stood silently outside the door, holding your breath. He slowed the song down majorly and was nearly whispering the lyrics... "you are, all I long for."

You stood there for a few minutes, still as a statue. However, your eyes grew heavy. You glanced back at the direction of you and Brandon's bedroom, but couldn't bring yourself to return to it. You quickly peeked inside the door and saw him; the spine of his gorgeous bare back evident due to his bending over the instrument, a hand clutching the back of his neck in concentration as he listened to those five seconds of the song he just couldn't seem to perfect. You sat down and leaned against the wall, slipping the hood of Brandon's sweatshirt up over your head. Your eyelashes began to flutter again, slightly, as you listened to him play. His voice was a soft hum and just by listening to the music you could clearly visualize his long fingers floating over and down onto the keys. Nights upon nights upon nights were spent lying alone in your room, staring at the Killers poster on your ceiling. And at that moment, the man from that poster was singing your all time favorite love song with you in the forefront of his brilliant mind. You folded your arms over your chest and tried to make yourself comfortable - it wasn't unusual for Brandon to spend hours hunched over that piano. You'd hear-first, from Brandon's phone- Frank Sinatra's romantic voice flowing out into the air and blooming like a flower, and then Brandon...His slightly higher-pitched voice slowly echoing the words as his hands completed the puzzle.

You were almost completely asleep when Brandon sighed, rubbed at his eyes, and closed the lid on his piano. He pressed the "pause" button on his phone and locked it. He thoughtfully regarded his lock screen: a picture of you he had taken a week beforehand when he was teaching you to play that same piano. "She'll be the death of me." He said to himself. He stood up and pushed in his bench. As he walked out to the dark hallway, his foot bumped into you and he gasped adorably in surprise.

"What are you doing here, crazy?" He asked.

You looked up at him from behind his hoodie that was covering most of your vision and brushed your hair out of your face. "I woke up and you were gone." He extended a hand out to you and helped you up. You arose too quickly and black dots exploded in front of your eyes. Suddenly you felt a hand on your back, steadying you.

"Wooahh.." Brandon said. "It's time for bed." He slowly turned you back into the direction of your bedroom and walked behind you, scratching your back underneath his hoodie that was still slung over your shoulders. You stumbled awkwardly down the hallway, feeling drunk after two sessions of half-sleep.

"I just really love that song." you blurted out.

"I know, baby, I know." Brandon said, biting his lips, attempting to hold in his giggle. You were so funny when you were tired, and he loved it. Strange.. how you had just been thinking the same thing about him earlier.

Still behind you, still scratching your back, he led you to your bed where you turned around to face him.

"Your voice is really nice." You said, still hearing it every time you closed your eyes. Brandon worried his eyebrows and let his laughter fall out of him, which in turn made you do the same. He wrapped his arms around your waist and leaned down - you were forever were in love with how he towered over you - to kiss you once, softly, and then again. His hands were comfortably placed on your back.

"Are you tired?" he said sleepily into your hair.

"A little..." you said, and pulled away from him. You walked over to the bathroom attached to the bedroom and brushed your teeth as Brandon straightened up the sheets on your bed. Neither of you turned on the lights. Standing in the bathroom, you could hear Brandon still humming to himself. You stared at your own reflection in the mirror and frowned at your smeared makeup and messy hair. Brandon sauntered in quietly behind you and rested his hands on your shoulders, staring into your eyes via the mirror and leaning down to kiss your head.

"You better set your alarm, hun," he said. "It's back to work in a few hours."

You closed your eyes, wanting to push it all away...wanting to fall in bed once again with Brandon and not be awoken hours later, forced to leave him. But, you sighed and picked up your phone. Naturally, you chose THEEE song to awaken you, and as soon as you did, it unexpectedly started playing.

"Ooops-" you said, and before you could turn it off, Brandon took it from your hands. He under-hand tossed it onto your bed and grabbed your hand, leading you back into the bedroom.

"Brandon."

A slightly teasing dream-filled closed-mouth smile crept onto his lips as he led your body closer to his, making you feel so lightweight that even in your fatigue you could've drifted out the window and into the starry night sky. Brandon sang along to the song coming from your phone, with his lips so close to your face that they brushed your cheek.

At first, your heart was racing relentlessly as he sang, "Hoolldddd my hand." But, over time, with his forehead leaning completely on yours, the only thing you could think of was how incredibly thankful you were. For his voice. For his hair and his fingers and his breath that smelled like Red Bull and peppermint gum, but only after a show. For his words. And his arms. And his face. And the way that he held you with his entire body and, as goddamned _cheesy_ as it was, his heart.

But any remaining energy that you had was dwindling, and you silently cursed yourself for wasting it on meaningless tasks that day, trying to pass the time until Brandon returned. Your arms, which had been resting all the way up on Brandon's shoulders in your clumsily flawless slowdance, slid down to his chest. Brandon smiled down at you and led you into your spot in bed, laying your head down on the pillow and smoothing your hair. He walked over to his side and crawled under the sea of blankets.

"Okay." he whispered to you. "Let's try this again." Your eyes were fully closed and though you could smell what was left of his cologne, you could know longer hear Brandon's voice...

"This time, neither one of us is allowed to leave until that alarm goes off." He nodded towards your phone on the nightstand, and then looked back at you. You were asleep.

Brandon made sure your entire body was wrapped comfortably in blankets and glanced up at the bedroom window several times to make sure it was locked. His eyes, starting at your head, moved down the entire length of your body and he took comfort in noticing how your chest rose and fell, completely carefree as you ran away to somewhere incredible in your dreams. It was almost sad; Brandon Flowers would never be able to fully believe that a girl like you dreamt mostly of him.

He thought of how your eyes twinkled when listening to love songs. He thought of the countless Killers songs YOU had inspired. But the last thing that resonated in Brandon's limitless mind before he slept was that it didn't matter if a love song was written by Frank Sinatra or Elton John or even HIM.. It would never be able to do you justice.

No song ever written would be able to fully communicate how _helplessly insane_ Brandon was driven when you smiled at him, and sang in the shower, and tied his tie for him, and told him you loved him. But he would try.


End file.
